


Four Things There Isn't Enough Time to Say & One Thing There Is

by herbeautifullie



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Christmas, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-11
Updated: 2012-05-11
Packaged: 2017-11-05 03:49:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/402130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/herbeautifullie/pseuds/herbeautifullie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Granger says, "I love snow. It's my favourite thing about Christmas, you know? It'll be strange in Australia – a Christmas without snowflakes, can you imagine?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Four Things There Isn't Enough Time to Say & One Thing There Is

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [caitriona-3](http://caitriona-3.livejournal.com) during [HiH's](http://hogwartsishome.livejournal.com/) Christmas gift exchange (I just remembered I never posted it here, oops?). The incredibly amazing [gin-again](http://gin-again.livejournal.com/) beta'd it for me on super short notice. Any remaining mistakes are all mine. ;)

_one ; don't go_

He hates this line in the Muggle films Granger makes him watch on the weekends they stay at her flat. Draco usually rolls his eyes at the person speaking, announces that it's the most trite thing he's ever heard when he hears it. She turns to him with teary eyes and tells him to be quiet, he's ruining the movie. 

Draco remembers one night when he said, "People don't say things like that – they don't feel that way. Have you ever felt like you needed someone so much that you begged them to stay like some sort of –" 

"Yes," she'd replied, nodding. Granger offered him no opportunity to finish his question, she'd already known her answer. "I would beg and maybe one day, I'll find someone who loves me enough to beg me to stay, too – no matter what kind of love-sick fool they might sound like."

Draco thinks that maybe he _should_ say, "Don't go." He _wants_ to but the rational part of his mind says he only has a few minutes left before she walks down the hall and on to the strange Muggle flying object she insisted on taking to Australia. He recalls the longing in Granger's face when she'd spoken about someone loving her enough to sound like a complete prat for her, but Draco isn't certain he's the kind of man who can say things like 'please, don't go'. 

The woman at the front of the queue is calling passengers for flight BA7310 with a frown, her dark eyes staring at Granger from across the waiting lounge. Granger turns a page in her book, ignoring the announcement as she reads. When Draco prods her slightly with his elbow and motions to the queue, she glances up and shrugs. "We have assigned seats, what's the rush to wait?"

She's right, of course. There is a queue of people still waiting to travel down the hallway that connects the airport to the contraption outside. Draco peers at the expansive white machine and frowns. Perhaps he _should_ ask her not to go, the strange thing doesn't look very safe. 

"Calling all remaining passengers for flight BA7310. We are now boarding." The attendant shifts to lean against her podium as she glares at Granger again. She's the only one left in the lounge not queued to have her ticket scanned by the balding man blocking the hallway. She purses her red lips, takes a deep breath and repeats, "Calling _all_ remaining passengers for flight BA7310. We are now boarding."

Draco watches as one of the other flying machines lifts into the air, soaring toward the clouds before it's swallowed by the sky. The one meant to take Granger to Australia roars to life. Draco thinks that she'll change her mind when she hears it. He's shocked when she hardly acknowledges it at all. Her eyes focus on her book, casting a glance the irritated flight attendant as she calls again for remaining passengers before she returns to her page. 

If he's going to say it, now is the time to start talking. A passenger disappears down the hall and the line shifts forward – a shuffle of feet telling Draco time is slipping away. He shakes his head, preparing to speak but his mouth refuses to part for something as asinine as 'don't go',

Granger is going to leave whether he asks or not and it's best not to waste his words.

  
_two ; be safe_   


Draco thinks that if she's going to go, she could at least travel by safer, more magical means. There are Portkeys, international Floo networks and Ministry-approved methods to aid a skilled witch or wizard to Apparate across oceans. He admits (not aloud, of course) that his disapproval of her choice stems from not understanding Muggle transportation. If he spent more time learning about the world she grew up in, he'd probably be more accepting of her decision to fly for hours in something that reminds him of the tins she brings home from the grocers. Draco thinks it was silly to apply for international travel through the Muggle government (who, strangely, didn't ask why she'd disappeared from their records after her eleventh year of life) and cart her travel bags _by hand_ through the airport when she could have very well shrunk her bags, taken a Portkey and been on her parents' sunny Australian doorstep before noon.

Instead she chose to pack herself with a crowd of strangers and bump elbows for hours. He predicts that her legs will cramp, her mood will darken and she'll begin to resemble something like the strange, funny-eyed fish that Muggles eat straight from the tin. 

Sardines. That's what they'll be.

His nose scrunches in disgust. Granger looks over, mocking the horrid face he's making. "Stop doing that," she warns, "or your face will end up stuck that way."

Rolling his eyes, he turns away and attempts to ignore his mind as it conjures images of bushy-haired sardines in tins with wings. Instead, Draco listens to the cacophony of noises from the rising and falling Muggle machines outside the wide stretch of glass before him. Their tyres screech across the pavement and their fronts bounce slightly as they pull to a stop.

Is there really no convincing her to travel the magical way Draco's accustomed to? He casts a glance her way and catches her eyes before they roll upward. She's obviously annoyed. 

"No," she says. "I'm flying – that's final. The plane is here and I am waiting for it. End of discussion, Draco."

He opens his mouth, ready to ask her to consider the safety of the choice she's made, but is interrupted by her deep, frustrated sigh.

"You don't understand what it's like for Muggles – the moment you walk around the corner and see your parents standing there, waiting for you with their excited expressions while they call your name, as though you don't already see them jumping up and down and waving their arms. It's... _magical_ , Draco. That feeling can't be expressed with words or understood by those who haven't experienced it, like you."

As usual, she's correct. He doesn't understand that feeling – never will – and who is he to deny her that after being away from her parents for so long? Visiting them once a year seems so rare and for the six months they've been together, he's only heard her speak to them once. Draco prepares to say 'just be safe'.

Granger cuts him off again with a shake of her head and a hard stare. "Stop worrying over it, you'll give yourself early wrinkles."

Draco, clearly unable to get a word in about her safety any time soon, gives up. He has no time to waste.

  


_three ; i'll miss you_  


It's another one of those ridiculous lines from the awful films she watches but Draco can't deny that he won't long for her while she's away. There hasn't been day where he's been without her for more than a few hours in two years. Even before they started dating, they saw each other nearly every day at the Ministry. Having offices two doors down from one another left little opportunity to not see the other. Now she's practically moved in – a drawer in his dresser dedicated just for her and Ministry robes lined alongside his with 'H. Granger' stitched in the collar.

He's having a hard time imaging waking up without Granger's face pressed against his chest, her measured breaths against his skin and her arms around his middle, holding him close as though he'll move away from her if she allows. It's an unnecessary gesture; he's never the first to rise from bed, always choosing to watch her until she wakes rather than make use of the extra time. He remembers cold sheets before she started spending the evenings at his flat, the silence that fills the space when she isn't around, and that he can hardly fend for himself in the Muggle grocers he's learned to love. How will he survive with only one bag of garlic and onion crisps until she returns in a week's time?

Draco will miss her, though. He'll spend his holiday on the sofa, watching the fire crackle between visits with his parents. His eyes will linger on the gifts she's placed under the tree while he wonders what is hidden under the silver and ruby wrapping paper. There will be curious glances cast his way at the Ministry functions he is forced to attend and he will ignore them all, wondering what Granger is doing at that very moment so many miles away. 

Mister and Missus Granger have only met him once, before he started taking their daughter out to dinner on Thursdays after long meetings in the office and before she started spending evenings on his sofa, curled against his side with a book in her hands and a smile on her perfect, rose-tinted lips. Draco finds it humorous that he was invited on the trip despite the Grangers hardly knowing him. When he brought it up, Granger (Hermione is a wonderful name but there is something special and _his_ about calling her Granger, even after all this time) laughed and informed him that her parents were curious that way. They'd been asking her questions about him on the rare occasion that they spoke and she'd already told them that it was nothing personal, but that he wouldn't be joining her. 

He regrets declining the offer when the attendant lifts the black microphone to her mouth again and calls for all remaining passengers to enter the queue for boarding. 

"Why doesn't she just say, 'You there, with the outrageous hair, come wait with all the other fools who think they'll get a better seat if they stand in the queue for longer'?" Granger scoffs, shaking her head at the woman before she turns to Draco. Her eyes are wide, warm and brown as she looks at him. "Did I interrupt you?"

Draco realises his lips are parted, prepared for speech when she started talking, but suddenly he finds he doesn't want to waste his breath on telling her he'll miss her. She knows he will, she'll see it in his face as she walks away. Hell, she probably knows it already. He was supposed to drop her off, watch her enter the airport and then take his leave, not buy a ticket of his own. He endured Muggle security and odd machines that beeped when people passed through them just so he could spend her last few minutes on English soil with her.

That damn ticket earned him twenty extra minutes with Granger before she left him for a week. It was his best investment yet.

  


_four; i love you_  


Draco didn't grow up with parents who used the word 'love' very often. It's hard for him to understand something he's never had explained, much less a feeling that everyone speaks of but very few can describe. He's never been forced to say it, never felt like she was waiting for those three words but sometimes he wonders if she feels like he never will.

Sometimes he wonders _if_ he ever will. 

There are few things in life that Draco fears. Most of them are long gone, their flesh rotting away under feet of dirt and stone, but he can't deny that the four letter word most throw out freely scares him. Draco has heard the stories of those who have loved and lost, who have given their hearts openly and been crushed by the one it was presented to. He's terrified to give someone that much control over him – his feelings, his needs, his wants, his future, his _everything_. 

If there is a single person in the world he _would_ be willing to give that control to, it's Granger – Hermione, his Hermione. It's often hard to believe and even harder to accept but when he finds himself walking behind elderly couples in the grocers, he thinks that maybe that will be he and Granger one day. He imagines elbowing her side and making snide comments about the youth of the day, the same way the older shoppers do now. Draco wonders if the rush he feels when she appears at the threshold of his office, with a slight grin and an expression of humorous disbelief, is a step forward – toward love, a promise of forever and the willingness to give up control to fate. 

He watches the line shorten as another person wanders onto the tin and thinks that there isn't nearly enough time to rationalise his feelings. They can't be simplified to a single word, minimised to fit in with everyone else's description of the ultimate expression of adoration, and it's not something he's willing to announce with only minutes to spare. When it's time, he'll need hours, days, weeks to show her what she means to him. 

Not to mention, the dark stare the attendant is giving them both is frustrating him to no end. He'll cock it up if he attempts to tell her about feelings he's not even sure he understands yet. 

There are the simple things he's willing to tell her now. Draco is ready to tell her that his heart skips when she smiles just for him, all the light from the room focusing solely on her for that single moment. His stomach drops and disappointment eats at him on nights when she's forced to stay late to file documents or review recent issues. He picks at his food on those evenings, eyes watching the door rather than the telly she bought him as his feet tap anxiously against the wooden flooring until the pop of Apparation and the click of the locks announces her arrival. He always thinks, _'finally!'_

These are feelings he has words for – that can be explained in terms they both understand. What he can't explain is the catch in his breath when her eyes slide open first thing in the morning, the way her sweet, tired sigh never fails to attract his attention and the constant warmth he feels when she's close. 

"Calling all remaining passengers for flight BA7310. We are now boarding."

Draco looks up. The attendant offers him a cool glare before she pointedly eyes Granger at his side. She ignores the announcement, choosing instead to comment on the snow covering the runway. 

Granger says, "I love snow. It's my favourite thing about Christmas, you know? It'll be strange in Australia – a Christmas without snowflakes, can you imagine?"

Suddenly, he knows what to say.

  


_say ; you're beautiful_  


"You're beautiful,"

The line dwindles behind him, another person making their way out of the airport – one person closer to running out of time. The attendant clears her throat, the sound nasally and distracting, but he focuses his eyes on hers. Granger arches her brows in confusion before her lips purse in annoyance. She scoffs. "Draco, you're not funny."

"I'm hilarious," he explains, "to those who appreciate my sense of humour. You are one of very, _very_ few who doesn't find me amusing." 

Granger cocks her head to the side, her body language saying, 'Oh, really?' before she shakes her head and makes her way to stand. Her fingers move to the handles of her travel bags and she heaves them off the boring, pale blue economy carpeting. 

"You're beautiful," Draco repeats. His hands move to take the bags from hers, pulling them away and setting them back on the floor. His fingers leave the bags, finding the soft, warm skin of her neck instead before drifting slowly upward to caress the roundness of her cheeks. "It took me a long time to notice," he admits, "but last Christmas when I bumped into you—"

"Literally," Granger interjects, "and it _hurt_."

"– I saw you – arse planted firmly in the snow and flakes all in your hair – and I left you there because my mind couldn't stop thinking about how amazing you were. How amazing you are."

She smiles slightly, a gentle quirk at the corner of her lips, and shakes her head. "Draco, you're getting sappy. Stop snooping through my films."

He sighs. "You were wearing that silly knit cap of yours – the ruby one with the black trim –" 

Her eyes widen slightly, irises lightening as he continues.

"– and your black wool cloak with the silver stitching, not the red. I thought it was ridiculous that you mixed red and silver. Your hair was curled, remember? You said you'd done it for a Christmas party you were meant to go to, but you'd been side-tracked along the way. You never made it."

Granger nods slowly, the attendant's voice calling for her over the speaker again as she steps a little closer to him. Draco can feel her warmth, the rush of blood from head to his heart and it leaves him momentarily without words. He struggles to hold the memory, attempting to ignore his mind's demands to kiss her and send her on her way before he begs her not to go so he can say all the things he wanted to but didn't have time for. He knows it's selfish but he wants to keep her here with him – for the holiday and every single moment after.

"I've seen snowflakes every year since I was small. My first memory of Christmas is the snow across the lawns of the manor, my boots disappearing in white fluff. I even recall the chill of it against my bare fingers when I pulled my gloves off without my mother's permission. She was so very angry with me." Draco laughs slightly, offering her a rare smile as he remembers his mother's worried gaze, her warm hands pressing his fingers back into his mittens. "I know snow, it has a special place in my heart and yet, I've never been so amazed by it as I was that day when the flakes were dancing across your hair, settling on your cheeks and – "

Her finger finds his lips, pressing against them to silence him as the attendant yells, "If you don't come now, I'll tell them we're through and leave you behind."

Granger turns, her eyes dark and her expression dangerous. "Then do it."

Draco blinks, eyes shifting between Granger and the furious attendant before he finds himself being pulled away from the empty queue, the Muggle flying machine and the travel bags Granger insisted on. "You'll miss it!" he tells her, attempting to pull away. "Your parents–"

She pauses, turning to face him and presses her lips to his. The familiar rush guides him forward, wraps his arms around her waist as her fingers move along his neck to run through the soft hairs at the nape. "I'll miss them," she admits when she pulls away, "but I can't imagine Christmas without snow, my friends and... well, _you_."

He stares down in disbelief as she shrugs slightly, he smile saying a million things all at once. Christmas wishes, he thinks, are amazing when they come true.


End file.
